Illumination
by AlanSchezar
Summary: A city on a hill cannot be hidden, nor is a lamp made to be hidden under a bushel. Love may wish to linger, but the words of life send Brendan on a journey into darkness. This is the tale that Brendan would not write. This is the tale that Aisling wrote when Brendan gave her the gift of words.


_In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God._

_The same was in the beginning with God._

_All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made._

_In him was life; and the life was the light of men._

_And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not._

When I asked him for the gift of words, these are the first words he gave me. These are the words, he said, these and many others besides, that he must carry to the cold and terrible land of the Northmen. I, being then in darkness, did not comprehend. In time, it was not the beauty of his illuminations that would change me, not the book itself, which was said to be a window into Heaven, but the light that lived in him, which shone forth from him like a beacon on a hill, which would prove the truth of those words.

It was on the second moonrise after his return to the beleaguered walls of Kells, to the bower of my forest where so many years before we had met as children, that he sought me out. Bearing the book, he came in dead of night to the circle of stones. Like a master returning to his own house, he sat down with his back against the dome rock and waited.

I did not keep him waiting; I had watched him eagerly from the very moment he had set foot again in my midnight kingdom. With fluttering heart I traced his every step; how tall and strong he had become! How could I have known, when we parted so many winters before, that I would yearn for his presence for so long? How could I have known the joy that would fill my heart when once again his voice, now so deep and rich, reached my ears?

"You have come back..." I whispered as the mist parted. He greeted me with a smile, but his eyes revealed the wonder that filled his heart at my appearance, and his breaths were stilled a long moment; no longer the little girl he had known in boyhood, I took on the full grown body of a woman. Indeed, for the undying fae, growing up takes on a different meaning than for the race of men, who begin and end as dust. It pleased me to know that my efforts were not in vain, and I know the smile upon my lips must have been just as wide as his.

"I thought you might like to see the book for which you risked so much," said he, patting the mossy spot by his side.

"I wondered if you would ever return," I said, crossing my arms, "After all this time, will you just carry on as always?" Though I had grown, I had not lost all trace of the girlish petulance he knew before. The warmth in his eyes and the joy in his smile disarmed me, though I did not show it; before he said another word I was already within his hands, willing to grant whatever wish he might ask.

"I missed you too, Aisling," he said in hushed tones, speaking as though my name were a sacred word to be relished.

I sat beside him and peered over his shoulder as he drew forth the book that had banished the darkness. The Book of Kells, as he called it.

"A shame..." said I, running my fingers over the plain, dull brown leather of its cover, "That the golden one was lost to the Northmen..."

He said, "The real treasure is not the cover..."

I glanced at him with wonder; what secret power, what precious treasure, lay within the vellum leaves of this simple book? What was it about these little marks, this hidden knowledge, which allowed a courageous boy to vanquish the terror of The Dark One?

When he opened it, I thought I knew; within the pages of his book lay the most magnificent images I had ever seen. It was as if his hand had captured the very magnificence of the wild, of the sky, of the earth, and bound them in chains of ink and walls of parchment. As if he painted not with ink and quill, but with sunset, and moonbeam; with breath of spring and autumn leaves, snowflake and shimmering ocean wave. I wept at the beauty of his illumination as page by page the magic of his artist's hand unfolded before me, and I was left speechless.

Seeing my tears, he laid a gentle hand upon me, a strong hand forged by the lifting of stones and the scratching of words, and my breath caught in my throat. He leaned closer, and with a smile he whispered, "But these pretty designs are not the true treasure either; these are only man's simple tribute to the true Author, to the grand Architect whose hand stretched forth the heavens like a scroll!" He gazed up to the blazing stars with a wave of his hand, as if he could see the very thing he spoke of.

"What are these marks?" I asked, pointing to the black scratches that surrounded the beautiful designs, "What do they mean?"

"Ahhhh..." he said, with a wistful sigh, "This is where the true treasure lies. The words of life, as St. Peter so aptly put it."

I tilted my head and gazed at him, watching the starlight blaze in his cerulean eyes. "What's so special about these scratches...?"

"These words," he said with a smile, spreading the book out on his lap, "have the power to turn sinners into saints, and to turn death into life."

I could scarcely believe what I was hearing. I glanced from him to the book, and after a moment I said, "I want you to teach me to write...teach me how to write the words of your book, so I can know the magic too!"

He nodded, shifting his body to turn to me, so close in that midnight garden that I felt the warmth of his breaths on my skin. "I would love to teach you to write, Aisling...it would be an honor and a privilege to teach someone who has taught me so much."

How sweet to me were those hours we spent together as he taught me the magical art by which he crafted "the words of life." When I had asked him where we should begin, he gave me those words by which I began this tale, and then he gave me so many more. Day after glorious day he came, and with the touch of a master's hand he guided my trembling fingers until I too had mastered the mysterious art of writing. Well do I remember the brush of his hand on my shoulder, the stroke of his fingers guiding mine, the warmth of his breath upon my cheek and the deep melody of his voice in my ear as he instructed me on the finer points of calligraphy. Even so, having mastered the art of creating words, I had yet to fully comprehend those treasured words contained within the Book of Kells.

Alas my happiness was not to last, and my fondest wish of that bygone time not to be granted. One day he came without ink or quills or parchment, and merely sat waiting for me at the circle of stones. His staff, a large cross mounted at the top, was in his hand. He laid it against the stone and stepped forward, drawing back his hood and waiting for me. Seeing the sorrow and burden in his eyes made me pause, and I almost chose not to appear, but in the end I stepped forth from the mists as always.

"Aisling, I'm so glad to see you," he said, forcing a smile.

"What troubles you, Brendan?"

He tried to smile, yet I saw it break before his words came, "I've had such a blessed time these past few months...the brothers at the abbey must think me mad for spending so much time in the forest, but I don't care. No moment I spend with you is wasted...not one ever has been."

My heart thundered in my chest as he spoke, because I relished the words he said and because I dreaded those he had yet to say. As I stared unblinking, fearing that if I shut my eyes my dream might shatter, he continued:

"I wanted to thank you for letting me teach you...I'm so glad I could share that gift with you. I know you will use it well..."

Why should he thank me when I should be thanking him? What was he getting at? These and more questions swam in my mind as I watched him.

"I'm...I'm afraid that I must go very soon, but I couldn't go without seeing you one last time."

"Go?" I asked, my voice a choked whisper, "Where are you going?"

A look of resolution came over his handsome face, a look I both despise and adore to this day, and he said, "Across the sea, to the land of the Northmen..."

"_What?!_" I said, scarcely sure I heard him right.

"To the land of the Northmen. I have been praying fervently these past few nights, and I am sure that the Spirit is telling me to take the gospel to them."

I tried to hide my fear by pacing furiously. I stammered over my words and gesticulated wildly as I spoke. "Are you mad, Brendan?!" I yelled at him, "Have candle light and ink fumes addled your brain?! The Northmen will _slaughter you!_"

He smiled back at me, his face radiant with tender compassion; it was infuriating. "Aisling...I am not my own, I am bought with a price..."

Desperate, refusing to heed his words, I appeared beside him, clasping his forearms and locking my eyes with his, "Have I not been a good student? Do I not please you...?" Tears shimmered in my eyes, for I could see them reflected in his.

"Aisling, I..."

Again he spoke my name in reverent tones, and yet I knew his will was unwavering. Though my fingers were thrust inside the sleeves of his cloak, wrapped firmly around his strong bare arms, I could feel him slipping inexorably from my grasp. The image of Brendan being murdered by bloodthirsty Viking savages flashed in my mind as my voice dropped to a pleading whisper, "Am I not desirable to you...?"

The words of my father have echoed in my mind many times since then, but in that moment they were silent. "_Never allow your heart to fall to a human, Aisling,_" he would say, "_If you fall in love with a son of man, you will know only sorrow. Even good men, of which there are precious few, are formed of dust and return to dust. For one brief shining moment of joy, you will suffer ages of grief, my child..._"

"_Oh Aisling,_" Brendan said, his voice a deep whisper, his body faintly trembling with the passion of his words, "_More than you will ever know..._" If my father's words had come to me then, I would have cast them off without a thought.

I kissed him.

I threw my arms around him as though he were drowning in the icy sea before my very eyes, and with all my heart and soul aflame, I kissed the man I loved more than life, more than my forest, more than all the world.

And he kissed me. No lie was on his lips; I knew that he loved me too. Even as I lost myself in that precious, beautiful kiss, his fingers entwining in my silver hair, I knew that we would part. I knew that even his deep and beautiful love for me was not enough to bind him to _Inis Ealga's _emerald shores.

Some mysterious and awesome power of which I knew nothing was drawing him to the sea, to the dark and icy lands of the Northmen, to deliver the words for which he and I had risked our lives. Why? Why should such bloodthirsty savages, such heartless destroyers of all that is good be given the gift of Brendan's words? It was baffling and maddening to think of.

In that moment, in my weakness and grief, in the throes of my passion as I kissed him, I confess that I considered charming him with magic. It would be so simple, I thought, to ensnare him with magic and keep him safe in my arms, hidden in my woods, where we could be together forever, just him and me.

But that would never do; it was the magnificent heart, the pure, unblemished love of Brother Brendan of Kells that I truly desired, and no charm could keep that love with me. As we drew back and I pressed my forehead against his, hot tears streaming down my cheeks, I knew I would lose him to the sea and the distant lands of ice.

I felt his forehead wrinkle with the pain of loss and felt the warmth of his breath on my lips as he said, "I love you, Aisling, and I always will...I'm sorry that it must be this way."

I shook my head, "Will I...ever see you again?"

"My life lies in the hands of the Lord now..."he said with a smile, "But if it lies within my power, I promise you I will return to you some day. Until then, don't forget the words I gave you...when you come to understand them, you will understand why I have to go."

I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. I wrapped my arms around him, as though that would be enough to hold him, though I knew it was futile. "When must you sail...?" I asked, closing my eyes.

"The day after tomorrow. The ship is nearly ready with provisions. I sail first to Orkney, then north from there into Scandinavia, where the Northmen dwell."

"Then will you not linger with me tonight...?" I asked, turning my face toward his and gazing into his eyes, my fingers wandering down his chest. When he gave no answer, I reached up and drew him into another kiss, as passionate and needful as the first. A woman has charms stronger than magic, they say.

Breathless, he drew back, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I'm sorry, Aisling...I mustn't...if only I could make you my bride, but it isn't to be...please, I beg you not to make this any harder for me."

I could plead no longer with him; I knew that in his very soul he felt he must go. How could I tell the man I loved to forsake the quest which he felt he was born for? Which he felt was worth forfeiting his life? To go with him would be impossible; leaving _Inis Ealga _would mean my death, for my immortal life was bound to the wilds of the Noble Island. And so, as I watched his ship set sail, I resolved to wait for him.

It was my undying love for Brendan of Kells which inspired me to pen this tale with the power of words he bestowed upon me. My Brendan was a simple man with a humble and contrite heart, a man who preached the lore of Christ and the Apostles whose story he illuminated, but who followed it himself above all. He would not write of his great quest, of the miracles he wrought by the power of his inner light, of the demons he vanquished, of the souls he led to salvation. He told me that he did good works in secret because God sees in secret. But I loved him, and with these words, I will tell the story he would not. What follows is the tale of how a simple monk sailed alone into the kingdom of darkness, into the very mouth of Hell, and there shone forth the everlasting light.


End file.
